


Paradise Broken

by Emachinescat



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Showdown (Ted Dekker)
Genre: Bromance, Crossover, Friendship, Gen, Spiritual, Supernatural Elements, Suspense, Thriller, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-21
Updated: 2010-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-13 18:30:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1236658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emachinescat/pseuds/Emachinescat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paradise has been compromised. When Fenton and the boys take up a case for one Sally Drake, they aren't aware that everything they have ever believed is about to be turned upside down. Written using themes, characters, & places from Showdown by T. Dekker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own either, for entertainment purposes only.
> 
> Blocks of text in bold italics are quoted directly from "Showdown."
> 
> No prior knowledge of "Showdown" is needed.
> 
> Enjoy. :)

**_Paradise, Colorado_ **

**_June 1, 2010_ **

Sally Drake shivered as she propelled her car onward to Paradise. Something was different, strange. Pushing the gas pedal a little harder, she watched as the speedometer climbed from fifty to sixty, then let her mind wander.

Johnny had sounded so urgent on the phone. She briefly closed her eyes as she remembered her thirteen-year-old son's panicked voice, cutting in and out as her cell phone lost signal on the desolate, lonely road leading from a nearby town where she shopped for groceries.

' _Mom, Cecil's dead! This stranger killed him! Everyone's acting weird, and the sky's gone all funny!'_ He had then spouted off something about eyeballs and skulls, but of course, that was his imagination. However irrational Johnny had seemed, though, there had been a note of true panic in his voice, and his first words still haunted her.

Mom, Cecil's dead! Sally hoped and prayed that this wasn't true. Cecil Marshall, the old, mute man with a heart bigger than Colorado, and a love for Johnny like that of a father? The old man who had bonded instantly with her son, both outcasts, the mute and the boy with the crooked leg who limped and ran funny? Dead? Surely not. And to think of him being murdered. Impossible.

Her cell phone chirped. Still preoccupied, she snapped, "Yes?"

" _Oh my goodness, Sally, you will never believe this!_ " Katie Bowers's loud, unpleasant voice boomed over the speaker. Sally could see the curvy strawberry-blonde sitting on a stool in Smithers Saloon, a large beer in her red clawed hands—each sharp nail at least two inches long—having just heard some ridiculous story about one of the locals, ready to spill it in one long, drawn out, extremely exaggerated story.

"Katie, I'm sorry, I have to concentrate on driving…"

" _No, Sally, I need to tell you—you need to get home before it gets dark!_ "

Sally gripped the phone a little tighter. "What's happened?"

" _Oh, it's not what's happened, but what's going to happen!_ " Katie squealed.

Sally rolled her eyes. "So now you can read the future, huh?"

Katie laughed loudly. " _No, but I know someone who can. Stranger came to Paradise this afternoon. Said God told him to!_ "

Sally's breath caught in her throat as Johnny's words echoed through her mind.  _This stranger killed him!_

"Stranger—did you say  _God_  told him to?"

" _Yeah—he's a preacher, and a strange one at that. Sexiest preacher I've ever laid eyes on. He walked into Steve's bar like he owned the place, started talking about how he was going to bring grace and hope to our little town. He said there's a meeting at dusk in the church, and we'd better be there—everyone! Course, I wouldn't miss it, but, you know, he kinda inspires some fear in a person, you know! Anyway, Sally, it's gonna be great, you've gotta hear what this guy's got to say!_ "

Wearily, Sally replied, "Are you sure you're not over exaggerating?"

" _No, tell her, Paula._ " Paula Smithers? If Paula Smithers said something was true, it probably was.

The sweet voice of Steve Smithers's wife, now shaky and shocked, answered, " _We're still at the bar, Sally. It's true, all of it. This man claims he's the real deal—like a prophet or something. But I don't trust him. He did…he did some very strange things. I'd get down here if I were you, Sally._ "

Steadying her shaking hands, Sally nodded, then remembered that Paula couldn't see her, and said, "Alright. Tell Johnny to sit tight. He called me a few minutes ago really shook up."

" _As he should be. Didn't Katie tell you what happened to Cecil?_ "

Ice cold fear gripped her heart. "No."

" _Died of a heart attack. From what I hear, Johnny was close to the old man, and the only person around besides Johnny when it happened was the stranger. Stranger claimed it was too much excitement, but it makes you wonder. Still, hard to imagine a preacher killing anyone, especially a defenseless old man_."

Sally's voice shook. "Johnny seemed to think differently. He claimed that the stranger killed Cecil."

" _I know. A few minutes after the stranger left the bar, Johnny came pounding inside. We wouldn't let him in, of course, since he's only a kid, but he kept babbling about how the stranger had plucked Cecil's eyeball's out and left him to die. Don't know where he got the idea, though. When we found Cecil, there were his eyes, in their sockets like they're supposed to be, no sign of blood._ "

"Probably his over-active imagination," Sally said in a forced-calm voice. "Thanks for explaining things a little more clearly, Paula. For once, the crazy story Katie told was the truth."

Paula chuckled. " _She means well, though._ " There was a pause. " _I think. Hurry home, Sally, but be careful. Bye._ "

"Bye." As soon as Paula hung up, Sally pulled her car off to the side of the deserted road, reached into her purse, and began thumbing through her address book, muttering the names she had listed as she went along. "Bowers…Marshall…Hampton, Hardy!" Still trembling, she dialed the out of state number on her cell phone, hoping her old high school friend hadn't changed his number since she saw him at that class reunion last year. The phone rang several times, and then a voice she didn't recognize answered, "Hardy Residence."

* * *

**_Bayport, Massachusetts_ **

"I'll get it!" Joe Hardy crowed as the phone rang. His mother, Laura Hardy, rolled her blue eyes.

"Is it possible for this family to have dinner without being interrupted?" she wondered aloud. Her husband, brown-haired, brown-eyed Fenton Hardy, smiled at his wife.

"I'm sorry, Laura, but it could be important."

Fenton was a world-renowned private investigator. His sons, seventeen-year-old Joe and eighteen-year-old Frank, were on their way to becoming as well-known as their father. They had solved numerous cases on their own and had recently began thwarting terrorists ever since Joe's girlfriend had been murdered by the Assassins. When the phone rang during dinner, it was usually a client of Fenton's, or even someone calling the boys for help.

Joe, his blue eyes shining and blonde hair just brushing his eyebrows, answered the phone. "Hello?"

A woman's voice answered,  _"Is this the Hardy Residence?"_

"Yeah," Joe answered, wrinkling his brow. Obviously his father had been right—it was something to do with work. "Who is this?"

_"My name is Sally Drake. I'm an old friend of Fenton's. He...he told me to call if I ever needed his help..."_

Joe frowned. "Are you okay?"

 _"Yes,"_ the voice replied.  _"But may I speak to Fenton?"_

"Alright, I'll put dad on," Joe answered, then covered the mouthpiece with his hand and said, "Hey Dad, there's some woman named Sally Drake on the phone for you."

Fenton looked very surprised but jumped up, looking at his family apologetically, and said, "I'll be back—I'll take the call in my office." He took the cordless phone and headed upstairs.

Joe slid into the chair next to his brother, whose brown eyes sparkled curiously. "I wonder what that was about," Frank mused.

Laura surprised the boys by saying, "Me too. I haven't seen Sally Drake since high school—she was a nice person but perhaps a little too flighty. I do hope she's okay."

* * *

"Sally? What's going on?" Fenton asked as he sat down at his desk.

_"Probably nothing, Fenton. I'm probably just over-reacting as usual. I shouldn't have called."_

"Sally, what is it that's got you so flustered? Obviously everything's not great or you wouldn't have called me. What's going on?"

_"My son, Johnny, called me today, rambling on about how this stranger came into town and murdered one of the elderly men there, a good friend of Johnny's, by ripping his eyes out of his skull."_

"What?" Fenton blinked, disturbed by Sally's admission but even more disturbed by the fact that she had dismissed it as 'probably nothing'.

 _"I don't know, Fenton. Johnny has an over-active imagination. But then I got a call from Katie Bowers, one of my,"_ shehesitated _, "friends. She said that there was a stranger in town and that he wanted to talk to everyone at the church tonight—apparently, he's some sort of preacher."_

"A preacher?" Fenton marveled. "So you're saying that your son thinks a preacher murdered someone?"

_"Apparently. Then I found out that Cecil really is dead—but according to the stranger, it was just a heart attack. I'm probably over-reacting, Fenton, but...Johnny sounded really scared and I don't want to take any chances. If someone has been murdered, we need to know. I didn't know if you would mind coming to Colorado for a few days to investigate Cecil's death but I know it would make me and Johnny feel a lot better."_

"Of course, Sally. I'll fly out there in the morning. Don't worry—I'll get to the bottom of this."

_"I believe you. And thank you. To tell you the truth, I'm surprised you are going to help me. Not many people are willing to help someone else. Do you need directions to Paradise? We don't have an airport so you'll have to fly to Denver and drive from there."_

Fenton turned on his computer and let it hum as it started up. "I'll Map Quest it," he said. "And I'll be there tomorrow morning. Don't worry Sally. I'm sure it's just a big misunderstanding."

Fenton quickly found directions from the Denver airport to Paradise, printed them out, and secured plane tickets for the next morning to Denver. He hurried down the stairs to find that his family had almost finished eating.

"Sorry, Dad," Joe said sheepishly. "We were hungry."

"What was Sally calling you about, honey?" Laura wanted to know. Fenton filled her in, and as he did so, the boys' eyes widened in interest.

"There's not any chance you'd need help on the case, would you dad?" Joe asked excitedly.

"Not at the moment," Fenton admitted. "Like I told Sally, it's probably a misunderstanding. But I promise, if I need any backup, you'll be the first to know."

Joe rolled his sapphire eyes. "And to think I waited on dessert for you."

 


	2. Chapter 2

_Paradise, Colorado_

Johnny was waiting for Sally when she parked her car in the driveway in front of her home. His brown eyes were bright with tears and his blonde hair blew in the light wind that had sprung up seemingly out of nowhere. The thirteen-year-old was scared to death, that much was certain.

He ran to his mother, eyes wide and hugged her tightly. Sally closed her eyes and drank in Johnny's outdoorsy scent. She loved her son.

"Mom, they wouldn't listen to me!" Johnny cried, his eyes wide. "I promise you, Cecil was murdered; I saw it; I really did!"

Sally sighed. "Johnny, I don't know exactly what you saw but I don't think that Cecil's eyes were really ripped out of his head—"

"Not you, too!" Johnny groaned. "Am I the only one around here that can see the truth?"

Sally led her frightened teenager into the house. "I'm not saying that I don't believe you, Johnny. I'm just saying that you've always had an over-active imagination. But I heard what Katie and Paula said and there's something strange going on. That's why I called an old friend, a detective, to come and investigate Cecil's death. And I'm really sorry, honey. I know you and Cecil were close."

* * *

Later that night, Sally began to think that what Johnny suggested was maybe not that crazy after all.

* * *

**_"Do you remember?" Black asked the congregation. "First there was an apple. The fruit of pleasure. All was good. Do you remember?"_ **

**_Stony silence._ **

**_Black tossed the red apple into the air. "And then there came..."_ **

**_When he caught the apple, it wasn't an apple._ **

**_It was a brown snake._ **

**_"The snake," Black said._ **

**_A gasp filled the room. Some shouts of alarm. Black held the three-foot snake by its midsection as the serpent lifted its head, testing the air with its long flickering tongue._ **

**_"But we know what happened to the snake, don't we?"_ **

**_Slick as a magician, Black slid his hand to the reptile's tail and cracked the snake like a whip._ **

**Crack!**

**_The blurred snake became a rigid object two feet in height. A dark wooden cross._ **

**_"The snake was defeated."_ **

**_The congregation was evidently too stunned to react this time. You could stuff an apple up the sleeve. You could hide a snake past the cuff. But not this hefty cross._ **

**_"And that defeat gave us the fruit of the vine once again." Black slammed the cross against the pulpit, where it vanished with a horrendous crash. Wobbling on the surface was an apple, which he held up for all to see._ **

**_The same red apple he'd started with._ **

 

* * *

 

Sally shivered. There was nothing normal about this "preacher". But then again, maybe he was right...

His words echoed through her head as she fell asleep.  _Wanna trip?_ Then he was speaking to her.  _Wanna trip, Sally? Wanna trip on Grace Juice, baby?_

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

* * *

Several miles away, in a hidden chamber beneath an ancient monastery carved into a mountain, a boy named Billy wrote a story that would change Paradise, Colorado forever.

* * *

 

_Paradise, Colorado_

_June 2, 2010_

Fenton Hardy had been driving since three AM. He glanced at the dashboard and the digital clock said in green, angular letters that it was now seven in the morning. The sun was just beginning to peek over the mountains and spread its light over the Colorado landscape. Fenton yawned and almost missed the sign and the turn in the road. At the last minute the old sign made itself known:

_**Welcome to Paradise: Population 450** _

"Finally," he breathed, and almost jumped at the sound of his voice; his radio had lost signal over two hours ago and he had been traveling in silence ever since. It seemed that he had lost all bearing on time in his drive through the Colorado terrain. He turned onto the dusty road into something that could have been mistaken for a ghost town in the Old West.

He saw a bar/restaurant owned by someone named Smithers. There was a hair salon and a meager grocery store. The houses were all old and out of touch. There were no cars on the street; there was at least one car parked in front of the homes. One old church, one decrepit theater. There was no hotel that he could see.

Shaking off his exhaustion, Fenton drove down Main Street until he reached the home of Sally Drake. He glanced down at the Map Quest instructions he'd printed out the night before to be sure; the addresses matched and he got out of his car and ascended the two porch steps and knocked on the door.

Fenton waited for a few moments. The door suddenly creaked open and a pair of haunted blue eyes stared at him from inside. Sally Drake looked like she had aged years since he had last seen her at their high school reunion. Her hair was messy and wild and she, for some reason, looked genuinely surprised to see Fenton Hardy standing on her doorstep even though she had called and asked him to come just the day before.

"Sally. How are you doing?" Fenton asked as gently as he could, seriously a bit concerned about his old friend's mental welfare.

"I shouldn't have asked you to come," Sally said, not opening the door any wider or showing any indication to let him in.

Fenton blinked. "What?"

"It was all a big misunderstanding. The preacher is..." she hesitated. "The preacher is something else." She had a faraway look on her face and Fenton shivered at the hollow sound of her voice.

"Sally—is someone forcing you to say this? Are you in any danger?"

Sally laughed. "Fenton, you need to put down your detective defenses for once. I told you, I was over-reacting. Cecil had a heart attack and the preacher is the greatest thing that's ever happened to this town. He's bringing grace and  _power_ to our little town of Paradise."

The way Sally said "power" sent a jolt of ice through Fenton's bones.

He was about to respond but Sally started to shut the door in his face. Now getting agitated, Fenton wedged his foot between the door and its frame before it could completely shut. Sally looked a bit fearful at his aggressive behavior, but Fenton was feeling distinctly mortified and felt perfectly entitled to rash behavior, something that he never gave way to; that was more of Joe's territory. Perhaps it was something to do with the atmosphere of Paradise, but Fenton Hardy wasn't feeling entirely himself today.

"Sally. You called me last night, scared to death about something. I spent a ton of money reserving a last minute flight to Denver. I drove for four hours straight through no man's land, just so I can help out an old friend! I get to your house and what do you do? You  _shut the door in my face!_ Don't you think the least you could do is invite me inside for a cup of tea or coffee or something hot and offer me an apology?  _Don't you?_ "

"He's right, Mom," the blonde-headed boy of about thirteen said from behind Sally. Her son. Johnny Drake.

"You stay out of this!" Sally hissed and Johnny recoiled at the hostility in his mother's voice. Fenton was shocked at Sally's reaction toward her son and was about to say so but Johnny spoke before he could, his eyes locked on Fenton.

"You can't listen to her; you have to stay!" he pleaded desperately. "Mom's not like this; no one is! Marsuvees Black is turning the whole town against each other!"

"Johnny, not a word against the preacher!" Sally all but shrieked.

"Get a grip on yourself, Sally!" Fenton snapped, at a loss for any better way of getting through to the woman. He grabbed her by the shoulders and saw his nearly maniacal expression reflected in her eyes.

"Is there a problem?"

Fenton nearly jumped out of his skin as the silky voice rang from behind him and someone touched his shoulders. He mentally chided himself. He was a detective. People couldn't sneak up behind him! The air must really be adversely affecting me, he decided.

He turned to face the intruder. A handsome face shaded by a black leather cowboy hat. Observant black eyes. Impossibly white teeth. Dressed in all black from his cowboy hat to his trench coat to his tight polyester pants to his squeaky clean boots.

"Who are you?" Fenton asked although by the look on Johnny's face, he had a pretty good idea.

When the man spoke next, he confirmed Fenton's suspicions. "Marsuvees Black, here to bring grace and power to the insignificant, rock-bottom, stupid town of Paradise, my friend."

"Obviously your idea of grace and mine are not in agreement," Fenton said stonily, refusing to look away from Black's steely glare.

"But only one is correct," Black said softly. He turned to Sally. "I am sorry that he bothered you, Ms. Drake." He closed the front door and gestured toward Smithers Saloon. "Care for a drink?"

* * *

Fenton stared at Marsuvees Black from across the small table in the saloon. Steve Smithers stood behind the bar talking in low tones to a woman wielding a large brandy that Black said was named Katie Bowers. Marsuvees Black tilted his large beer and drowned the whole thing in less than a minute while Fenton clutched his glass of untouched ale and looked on in disgust.

"I thought preachers didn't drink," he said stonily, liking this Black character less and less with each passing second.

"I'm not your average preacher," Black said, a smug grin appearing on his face. "In fact, I'll be honest with you, Hardy. I'm not a preacher at all. But they don't know that. All they know is that I'm going to put this little town of Paradise back on the map. And these townspeople; they have a short temper. You saw how quickly Ms. Drake reacted to her son. You don't want to get in their way, and you best not be trying to spread any enmity around against me—they love me, they respect me, they need me. If you try to turn them against me, they'll tear you limb from limb, Detective."

Fenton stared at this man. "Are you threatening me?"

Black looked shocked. "Of course not. Preachers don't threaten."

Fenton snorted. "Just like they don't drink?"

Black smiled cryptically. "Just leave town, Hardy. We don't want anyone making trouble. I'm here to help."

Fenton stood up and slammed a five dollar bill onto the bar and didn't wait for Steve to give him his change. Instead, he spun on his heel and left the bar, wondering if his mind had completely left him.

* * *

Fenton's head seemed to have cleared when he reached his car. He hesitated, then pulled out his cell phone, amazed that he had even one bar of service in this wasteland. He quickly hit speed dial and breathed a sigh of relief when his old partner and friend, Sam Radley, answered the phone.

"Hey, Sam, do you think you can do me a favor?"

"Anything for you, Fenton. What's up?"

"I'm here in Paradise, Colorado and didn't know if you could do a search on a Marsuvees Black and get back to me as soon as possible."

_"Sure thing, Fent. I'll run the search and get back to you ASAP."_

Sam called back not thirty minutes later. _"Marsuvees Black is a teacher at government-funded, university-sponsored program at a monastery in the mountains bordering Paradise called 'Project Showdown'. I couldn't get any information on Project Showdown other than it is run by a man named David Abraham and has been going on for nearly thirteen years. David Abraham recently hired Black."_

"Thanks, Sam. I'll get back to you once I know something."

Fenton's first inclination was to head straight to the monastery Sam had told him about, but an image of Johnny Drake assaulted his mind, begging him not to leave. He would go to the monastery, but someone needed to keep an eye on things in town. He dialed his home phone number and hoped that Frank and Joe were still up for a little sleuthing.


	3. Chapter 3

_Paradise, Colorado_

_June 3, 2010_

"Dad was right," Frank Hardy said as he glanced around the Drake household, waiting for Johnny to return, "something is very weird around here."

The boys had arrived in Paradise the morning after their father had called. They had gone straight to the Drake home and were relieved that Sally had agreed to let them stay for a few days as they said they had heard about what was happening in Paradise from their father and they wanted to learn more about Black's grace and power. Sally had just gone to the bar and the boys had let Johnny Drake know the actual reason they were there. Johnny had been relieved and had gone to get something for the boys to drink.

When he returned, he had three glasses of lemonade. "No one is acting the same," Johnny said as he took his seat. "Steve Smithers won't even leave his house to go to work anymore; Mom said that Katie Bowers is in charge of it now—and trust me, the last thing you want is to put Katie behind a bar in charge of an unlimited supply of liquor." He sighed. "I went to see Steve last night, you know, to see if I could help him with anything. But his wife, Paula, wouldn't let me in and I kept hearing these strange thumping noises from the backyard. I'm telling you: Marsuvees Black is behind it all."

"We believe you," Joe said. His mind was feeling a little foggy, just like Fenton had said his had been when he had visited Paradise. "And we're going to do our best to figure out what exactly he has up his sleeve."

"Do you believe me about Cecil, too?" Johnny asked, and Frank hesitated.

"We believe that he killed Cecil, no doubt," Frank said, "but the way the murder was committed, at least, the way you said it was committed, seems very unlikely, especially since Joe and I visited the morgue before we came here—his eyes were intact."

Johnny banged a fist against the coffee table. "I'm telling you—Black is not your normal villain! It wouldn't shock me at all if he had some sort of magical powers! He's not normal. I wouldn't have believed it myself if I hadn't witnessed it with my own two eyes!"

"Hey, we're not the enemy here, remember?" Joe said soothingly. "And for what it's worth, I believe you. Frank is just a big stick in the mud. He doesn't believe in anything cool or unusual, like Superman or Garfield."

Johnny gave Joe a strange look. "Superman and Garfield are cartoons. I'm not three; I'm thirteen. Please don't patronize me."

Frank snorted. "Joe's just trying to be funny. And not succeeding." Johnny smirked. "So what's our plan?"

Joe, still looking rather mopey, said, "I'll follow Black—you said he's staying in the basement of the church?" Johnny nodded. "Frank, why don't you and Johnny go to the Smithers' and try to find out what that Steve dude is doing in his backyard. We'll meet back here in, say, an hour or so."

The other two agreed, and the group split up.

Not a wise thing to do when Marsuvees Black is on the loose.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Joe was peering through the church's basement window. He had followed Black from the saloon—a strange place for a preacher to be, he decided—to the church. From what Joe could see, Black was simply brushing his teeth, looking in the wide mirror that lined the wall of the bathroom. The windows were frosted over, but the one at the bathroom where Black was primping was conveniently broken. Perhaps too conveniently.

Joe was about to turn away, bored, to try to find a way to sneak into the church, when something Black did caught his eye.

The black-clad man roared at the mirror, and when he did, his skin flapped back over his skull as if a wind had just blown his face right off. Joe lay on the ground, staring in the window, frozen with shock and disbelief as the bare, ivory skull turned its head and the black, calculating eyes swiveled in their sockets and locked on his face. Joe let out a cry of alarm.

He blinked.

Black was gone. So was the skull. Maybe his father was right. Maybe Paradise did strange things to a person's head.

Then Joe heard a chuckle behind him. Black. But how could he have possibly gotten here so fast, especially when he had no time to have left the church to be suddenly standing over Joe Hardy? Joe struggled to his feet and faced Black. When he did, he only got a small glimpse of the man's face—skin and all—before Marsuvees Black pulled back a black gloved fist and slammed it into Joe's jaw.

Joe was unconscious before he hit the ground.


	4. Chapter 4

_Paradise, Colorado_

_June 3, 2010_

"Steve has always been a great guy," Johnny Drake said as Frank started up the rental car and backed out of the Drake driveway with Johnny in the front seat. "And his wife, Paula, is one of the nicest people you'll ever meet. But ever since that self-proclaimed preacher came to town, they—well, the whole town, really—have been acting really weird. I'm worried about Steve and whatever he's doing in his backyard can't be good."

Frank glanced at the church as he drove by. "I wonder how Joe's doing."

Johnny looked nervous. "I don't think Black will try anything—not with you guys being visitors and all." He didn't look convinced. As the car approached a small road, Johnny said, "Turn here." Frank complied. "Steve's is the second house on the left." Frank flicked on the turn signal and pulled into the driveway in front of the quaint little home.

The two teenagers got out of the car and approached the front door. Johnny's finger froze hovering over the doorbell. A faint  _thump, thump, thump_ could be heard from behind the house, and the sound of someone grunting, whispering to himself. "That's Steve," Johnny whispered. "He was one of the first to talk to Black, but don't expect him to tell you much—he's falling into the trap quicker than anyone." He pressed the doorbell.

The thumping ceased for a heartbeat, then continued again, louder and more erratic than before. Johnny rang the bell again. This time the thumping stopped all together.

A pretty, dark-haired woman opened the door, her eyes dead and narrowed. "Oh, it's you," she hissed when she saw Johnny, sneering. "Come to spread more lies about that glorious preacher again, are we, boy?"

"No—it's the truth!" Johnny protested. Frank stepped in.

"Mrs. Smithers?"

"What?"

"My name is Frank Hardy, and—"

"Hardy?" Paula Smithers said, spitting the name like it was poison. "Wasn't there a Hardy poking his nose around a few days ago, too?" She squinted at Frank. "Matter of fact, you look just like him, only younger."

"Yes. Um, well, Mrs. Smithers, I was wondering if your husband is home? There are just a few quick questions I'd like to ask him about Marsuvees Black."

Paula raised an eyebrow. "Why not ask the preacher?"

"Because Steve was one of the first to talk to him!" Johnny piped up. "If Black said something to incriminate himself or anything of importance, he'd probably know it."

Frank sucked in his breath. Despite Johnny's good intentions, judging by what he'd heard from Paula so far, Johnny's method was not very wise. Or maybe...

Paula let out a short, angry laugh that was more of a bark. "Fine, talk to Steve. See if I care. But he won't tell you anything because there's nothing  _to_ tell. Marsuvees Black is a miracle worker and magic man and is the best thing that's happened to our town!"

She led the boys through a house that looked like it hadn't been cleaned in days. Johnny was looking around in shock and Frank figured that the Smithers must normally be very clean people, not the slobs that inhabited the house now. Paula led them to a screen door at the back of the house and smirked. "Steve's out there, but he's not in the mood to talk. Actually, he's not in the mood to do anything now but play in the shed." She paused and said, almost inaudibly, "Grace Juice, Baby." She left the room.

"I swear, Paula is normally so sweet!" Johnny said in a high voice. "This is not cool...it's worse than I thought!"

The two boys went through the screen door and found Steve Smithers in his overgrown jungle of a backyard, standing near a dilapidated shed, banging away with a knife and hammer at some medium-length posts.

"What is he doing?" Johnny asked, not expecting an answer, because Frank was just as much in the dark about Steve's actions as the blonde boy beside him. Frank's eyes darted to a pile of the posts and saw that they had all been sharpened on both ends to make a pile of deadly wooden stakes. He instantly felt a little queasy.

Steve didn't acknowledge the visitors, even when they were standing two feet away from him. "Steve," said Johnny and the man merely grunted in response.

"Mr. Smithers, I'd like to ask you a few questions about Marsuvees Black," Frank began.

At the mention of the "preacher", something inside of Steve Smithers snapped. His head whipped up and the boys saw the maniacal, crazed look in his eyes before the man let out an ear-splitting roar and screamed, "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE, YOU PUKES!"

"Mr. Smithers—" Frank protested, put out by the man's insane behavior.

Letting out a savage yell, Steve moved lightening fast and suddenly had a stake in his hand, threatening to use it. "OUT!" he screamed.

"But—" Johnny said.

Steve ran at them then, brandishing the stake. Paula stood in the doorway, laughing. Both boys bolted from the yard, Johnny out of fear and Frank out of a desire to protect Johnny. They were almost to the gate when Frank felt something pierce his left arm and felt sticky blood slide down but he didn't stop, not even when he was whacked again, this time on his leg by the blunt edge of the stake.

The boys cleared the fence, Frank bleeding and limping, and dove into the car. Frank sped away but saw Steve having a fit in his backyard and finally turning back to his stake-making.

* * *

The first thing Joe was aware of was the pain. Pain in his head, his jaw, his arms, legs, back, and abdomen.

Then he became aware of the suffocating darkness and stuffy air around him and he immediately panicked, jerking his body, then screaming in pain into a piece of duct tape.

He was apparently trussed up like a pig at a rodeo. His hands were tied together, as were his ankles. His wrists and ankles had been stretched behind his back and tied to each other, forcing his back to arch and stretching his spine almost to its breaking point. From what he could tell, there was also a blindfold over his eyes and a hood over his head. He was lying on his side.

His muscles were screaming in protest at their unnatural position and his jaw pounded from where Black had slugged him.

Then Joe remembered the disturbing scene he had witnessed before Black had knocked him out—the roar, the skin melting off, the skeleton.

Joe shuddered. Whoever this Marsuvees Black guy was, he was something unnaturally evil. A cold fear washed over him as he realized that he was now at this man's mercy.

He heard a soft chuckle and heavy breathing from somewhere beside him.

He wasn't alone.


	5. Chapter 5

_The Monastery_

_June 3, 2010_

Fenton Hardy had arranged a meeting with David Abraham, the overseer of the mysterious project in the monastery. He sat in the spacious office, his keen eye taking in every detail. The walls were lined with dusty bookshelves, consisting of books of every color and size but none had a title etched into the side. Out of curiosity, Fenton stood and approached one of the shelves and removed a dusty red volume from the shelf. On the front cover, written in intricate golden script was the title:

_The Story of History_

Fenton opened the book and was surprised to see that every page was blank. Some sort of journal or something. He heard footsteps approaching the study and quickly replaced the book and took his seat once again.

The monk who entered was slightly overweight, balding, but had cheery eyes that held a peace Fenton had never seen. "Hello, my friend," the man said, reaching out a large hand to shake Fenton's. Fenton stood politely and shook his hand. The monk continued. "My name is David Abraham and welcome to the monastery. How may I be of service to you?"

Fenton smiled. He liked this man; he liked the feeling of peace and love he emitted and the warm, welcoming nature. For some reason, he had always considered monks to be cold and indifferent to the rest of the world. Perhaps some were, but not David Abraham.

"My name is Fenton Hardy," Fenton introduced himself.

"Welcome, brother," David said and took a seat behind his desk. He motioned for Fenton to have a seat as well.

"Thank you." Fenton hesitated, unsure of how to begin his interrogation. He had been planning on having someone unhelpful and secretive talk to him, not someone so friendly and open. He just couldn't see how a man like Marsuvees Black could be under the employment of such a gentle man like David Abraham. Finally he said, "I understand that you have a man working and living in your monastery named Marsuvees Black."

"Yes, that is correct," David said. "He is...unorthodox, to be sure, but if anyone knows about squaring off with his demons, it's Marsuvees Black." It was David's turn to hesitate. "I was looking for a replacement for a teacher and had heard of him. He seemed like just the kind of man to contribute his experience to Project Showdown." David opened his mouth as if wanting to say more, but closed it again, apparently thinking better of it.

His curiosity thoroughly peaked, Fenton found himself asking, "What exactly  _is_ Project Showdown?"

Again, David hesitated. "A project evaluating the effects of growing up in solitude on the minds and lives of young people," he said vaguely.

Deciding to let the matter rest for the moment, Fenton changed the subject. "Marsuvees Black lives in the monastery?"

"As we all do," David confirmed, looking relieved that Fenton had his mind elsewhere.

"Then why is he staying in the little town of Paradise, right at the base of the mountain? And  _why_ is a young boy claiming to have witnessed this man killing an elderly mute by plucking his eyes out of his skull? And  _why_ is the entire town being turned upside down because of this so-called, self-proclaimed 'preacher'? Why is he claiming to have some sort of supernatural power that will bring 'grace' to the town of Paradise?"

During Fenton's rant, David had paled considerably. He opened his mouth as if to speak, closed it, swallowed, opened it again, but nothing came out. He just sat there looking as if he were an extremely stupid person that had just been asked to find the cubed root of pi.

"David?" Fenton said softly, worried that his angry rage might have affected the monk adversely.

David shook his head and closed his mouth. "I—I am so sorry," he whispered. He closed his eyes and muttered, "Billy, oh, Billy, what have you done?"

Fenton narrowed his eyes. "Who is Billy? And what are you talking about?"

David took a deep breath. "Fenton, there is much that I must tell you so that you must understand my predicament. Be warned, it is very strange and, indeed, impossible. But I can assure you that everything you are about to hear is true. Please tell no one of what I am going to tell you, and please do not judge me too harshly when you hear what Project Showdown is really about."

Fenton raised his eyebrows but said nothing and patiently waited for David to tell his story.

"About fifteen years ago, right after my son Samuel was born, I was exploring this old abandoned monastery," David began. "And I stumbled across this massive library in a cavern under the monastery, in the heart of the mountain. These are only some of the books that were contained in it." He took a deep breath and continued. "All of the books were blank and titled 'The Story of History'. They intrigued me.

"I decided to use some of my funds to purchase the monastery as a home for my son and I. This way I would have full access to the library and the mysterious books it contained. One day I was looking through some of the blank books for any indications of use. Samuel, who was about five years old at the time, was sitting at the desk I had moved into the place. He had gotten a hold of one of the books and was writing in it with a magic marker." David's eyes misted at the memory.

"He wrote simply: 'The desk is red.' Of course, the desk wasn't red in the least bit; but you know how children are—what an imagination."

Fenton nodded. "I have two boys," he said proudly. "Almost grown up—they're actually down in Paradise right now."

David went on in a rush. "Anyway, Samuel wrote that the desk was red, and the next thing I knew, the desk _was_ red."

"What?" Fenton said, disbelieving.

"I told you it would sound impossible, but I assure you everything you are hearing is the truth," the monk insisted. "I was baffled of course, and, being selfish in nature as all humans are, I desired to use the books for myself. But when I wrote in them, nothing happened.

"I realized that only someone innocent—a child with a pure heart—can write in the books and unleash the power held within their blank pages. And so began Project Showdown. I adopted children that had no home or no future. I got the program sponsored by Harvard University and hired some of the most brilliant and religiously devout men I could find to be mentors and teachers to mold these young minds.

"What I told you earlier was true: these children have never left the walls of the monastery, have been taught nothing but good. And they have been taught how to write. I hoped that someday one of the children would find their way into the library and write in the books, to benefit the world. Since they have been brought up to know only good and they are so amazingly brilliant...

"It seems that Billy, the first child to find his way to the library, was inclined toward his sinful nature, and now it is obvious that it was Black that tempted him to do so..."

David Abraham took a deep, calming breath, looked Fenton in the eye, and said, "A thirteen-year-old boy named Billy is controlling everything that is going on in Paradise. He's more dangerous than you would think. Black has been here the entire time, I know, so apparently Billy has created a replica of the man that is now tormenting Paradise."

Unable to believe what was going on, yet finding no other plausible explanation, Fenton said hoarsely, "Then we have to stop him."

"I can't," David said sadly. "No one can, not now. If need be, my son may be able to remedy the situation. I'll call for him in a moment." He paused. "If your sons are in Paradise and Billy is indeed controlling what's going on...well, I don't know if you're a religious man, but even if you aren't, you'd better start praying. God help your boys if Black gets a hold of them."


	6. Chapter 6

**_Paradise, Colorado_ **

**_June 3, 2010_ **

Frank and Johnny stumbled out of the car and hobbled into the Drake household. Sally still wasn't home.

"What the heck was that about?" Frank gasped as he plopped down on the couch and rubbed his bruising leg. "Is everyone in this town out of their minds?"

"Apparently," Johnny said darkly, then his eyes widened as he took in Frank's condition. "You're bleeding."

And so he was. Steve had attacked the eldest Hardy viciously, leaving a deep cut from the razor-sharp point of the stake in his arm which was bleeding profusely. Johnny scurried out of the room after saying something about a first-aid kit. While he was gone, Frank checked the clock and realized that Joe should be back any minute now and wondered what his brother had found out from following Black.

Johnny returned a few minutes later with a first-aid kit and helped Frank to clean and bandage his arm. He stretched it out in front of him and winced. It hurt, but he'd be okay. With nothing else to do, Frank and Johnny settled themselves on the couch and waited for Joe to return.

Thirty minutes later, Frank was beginning to feel very nervous. Joe was supposed to be home half an hour earlier but had never shown up. At first, Frank hadn't panicked because it wasn't unlike Joe to lose track of time while on a case and forget to call. Or maybe he had found a good lead and was following Black without having time to let Frank know where he was at. But after a while Frank realized that his brother wasn't just running late—something was preventing him from returning.

He abruptly stood, facing Johnny. "Something's happened to Joe," he said seriously. "I'm going to go look for him."

"I'm coming with you," Johnny said in response, jumping up from his place on the sofa but Frank shook his head.

"No, you need to stay here in case Joe calls—he's got your number. Also, it could get dangerous and I am not going to be responsible for anything bad happening to you."

Johnny began to protest but Frank held up his hand. "Please just let me do this," he said and Johnny nodded, looking annoyed to say the least. Frank relaxed a bit and then asked, "Where do you think Black would keep Joe if he had him somewhere?"

Johnny bit his lip in thought for a moment then responded, "The church, probably. That's where he spends most of his time."

Frank nodded. "Thanks, Johnny." He hesitated. "Everything will be okay, Johnny, I promise."

Johnny fixed Frank with a determined stare. "You don't have to try to console me, Frank," he said firmly. "I may be four years younger than you, but I'm not a child, and I definitely know how to take care of myself."

Frank nodded. "Joe and I will be back soon."

"I hope so. Bye, Frank."

* * *

Ten minutes later, Frank had arrived at the church. He had found a broken window—halfway below ground, so he assumed it was a basement window—at the front of the building. Getting down on his stomach, he peered into what looked like a men's bathroom with a toothbrush, toothpaste, and comb on the counter.

Frank managed to squirm through the window and landed agilely on the balls of his feet on the white linoleum floors. His senses on alert, he looked and listened for any signs of Marsuvees Black but the bathroom was empty.

He went through the door into the basement of the church where there was a crudely carpeted hallway leading to several open doors—classrooms. The one on the left had a cot instead of a table. Marsuvees Black was most definitely staying here.

At that moment, Frank heard a strangled yell from outside the building from the churchyard—behind the church. It was Joe.

Frank sprinted down the hallway and ran as fast as he could up the steps, through the sanctuary, and toward the churchyard to save his brother.

* * *

Samuel entered his father's study, his eyes wide and urgent.

Fenton looked at the small blonde boy of fourteen and saw the resemblance to David in his features. It was still very difficult for Fenton to accept what David had told him, but the fact of the matter was that he did not, at the moment, have any other choice and even though David made no sense, he made perfect sense at the same time.

"This is my son, Samuel," David Abraham said, proudly introducing his boy with a worried, distracted look in his eyes. "Samuel, Fenton Hardy."

Samuel inclined his head in Fenton's direction then turned back to his father. "I tried to talk to Billy and the others but they just won't stop writing," he said urgently. They have no idea that what they are writing is causing such chaos in Paradise." He hesitated only for a moment before adding, "Marsuvees Black has complete control of the townspeople now and they have one of the visitors in their clutches." Fenton gasped.

"Which visitor? Who?"

"A boy named Joe," said Samuel and Fenton closed his eyes, knowing his son was in grave danger.

"We have to get down there! We have to help him!"

Samuel and David shook their heads simultaneously. "There is nothing  _we_ can do," David said sadly. "But Samuel, I cannot ask this of you...but you must..."

"I will do what I can to stop them in time," Samuel said solemnly. "I love you, Father."

David's eyes filled with tears and Fenton didn't understand. Why was he letting his young son go down to Paradise alone? Why was there nothing Fenton or David could do? And  _why on earth_ could Fenton not help his son?

Feeling desperate, Fenton asked before Samuel could leave the study, "Do you know what they are planning?"

Samuel hesitated. "A lynching," he said softly, then exited the room with a determined look on his young face.

Fenton dropped his head in his hands and cried.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Paradise, Colorado** _

_**June 3, 2010** _

About 15 Minutes Earlier

Joe felt something touch his shoulder and for a moment hoped vainly that it was Frank; his brother had already found him and come to save him! But then he remembered the sadistic chuckle he had heard not a minute before and knew that this was not his brother. Besides, the person's touch was not warm and familiar like Frank's, but cold, distant, and  _evil._

The hand ran down his shoulder and felt its way across his spine until it reached the point where Joe's hands and feet were hog-tied together. Still the person said nothing but if he would have been able to, Joe would have shrunk away from the person's touch; their mere presence.

He knew without a doubt that this man was Marsuvees Black.

The hand tested the bonds and Joe felt pain radiate up his spine as his stretched limbs were yanked mercilessly. His muscles screamed in protest and his spine felt like it was about to snap in half. He was hog-tied—except instead of his hands and feet being tied to each other in the front, they were lashed together at the back and Joe never thought he could be so uncomfortable. The hands released his bonds and Joe breathed heavily through his nose, not able to breathe through his mouth due to the gag.

Without warning, Joe felt himself being dragged across the floor, his arms and legs literally stretched to their breaking point. Now he knew what Black had been doing with his bonds—tying another rope around them so that he could pull Joe along, dragging him across the ground by his already strained arms and legs. Joe thought he might pass out from the pain when he felt his shoulder pop out of its socket.

He screamed into the gag but no one could hear him. But Marsuvees Black could either tell what had just happened or could read Joe's mind because he instantly stopped dragging the boy and slammed his boot into the boy's right shoulder, popping the shoulder back into place.

Joe let out another silenced scream and this time he couldn't help but acquiesce to the foggy blackness that succumbed his mind. He passed out from the pain.

* * *

Black didn't seem to care or notice that his captive had blacked out. He continued to haul the boy with the rope tied to the bonds behind his back. Out the basement door. Around the side of the church. Into the churchyard, where many of the inhabitants of Paradise stood restlessly, murder in their eyes.

Joe barely even noticed that he'd regained consciousness. After all, he was still in the pressing darkness, due to the blindfold and the hood over his head. His limbs were surely about to snap in two; the pain was that unbearable. He was exhausted, bruised, and twisted and stretched like some sort of human pretzel. The only thing that truly told him he was back in the real world were the voices—angry, murderous voices.

"Kill him now!" a woman screeched and Joe recognized her voice.  _Sally Drake?_ He felt sick in his stomach.

Marsuvees Black's cold voice silenced the other voices. "This boy came to Paradise to steal away the grace I've brought this pitiful town. Should we kill him now or make him suffer?"

The throng of voices answering was so loud that it hurt Joe's ears. " _Suffer! Suffer! Suffer!"_

These people had turned into mindless zombies; shells of themselves, Joe realized.

The hood was suddenly ripped off of his head and the blindfold removed. Joe blinked slowly in the bright light, his eyes aching from meeting the sun after what seemed like an eternity in darkness.

What looked like the entire town of Paradise was in the churchyard, looking more like an angry mob than anything else. The looks in their eyes were crazed and Joe knew instantly that they had no control over themselves—but Marsuvees Black had complete control over their every thought, every action.

Joe was lying on his side, still tied up painfully. He forced his eyes upward and met Black's gaze. The man's eyes were dark and full of hate and malice. He grinned a toothy grin with too many white teeth. Joe involuntarily shuddered as he thought of the gleaming white skull lying just beneath the bronzed skin, those pearly whites leering at him from the mirror with no lips or skin or any kind of flesh around them. Black laughed when Joe shook.

"I believe it's safe to say you've worn out your welcome," Black said to Joe. He reached down and yanked the gag off of the boy's mouth.

"W-why are you d-doing this?" Joe rasped. He stuttered, his head spinning crazily and unable to think straight.

"Why not?" Black grinned. "Y'see, boy, there's something you need to know. There are no shades of gray. There's Black and there's White. Good and evil. Night and day. Get it?"

Joe blinked. What on earth was this man babbling about, he wondered.

"Joseph, I know you're in serious pain here, but I need you to focus," Black said in the tone of a happy-house nurse talking to an extremely stupid patient. "All these stupid people think they can hover somewhere in between. But they can't. It's my way or his way. Better yet, my way or no way.  _Comprendo_?"

"What the heck are you talking about?" Joe mumbled.

Black rolled his black eyes. "It's all about Grace Juice, baby. Power. You want to be on the losing side of this ball game, you choose 'good'. But with evil, you've got more power than you ever imagined. I call it suhupow. Short for super human powers. You like?" He gestured to the townspeople around him. "They like. See, Joey—it's okay if I call you that, right? I really am here to bring Grace to the town of Paradise—Grace and so much more.  _My_ Grace. Power." He stuck his hand in his pocked and wiggled it around, bringing it back up with some sort of translucent gel on his fingers. "Truth.

"It's all about the Truth, boy." He began sucking the gel off of his fingers. "Believe it or not, there's something more outside of this reality. Something that will change the course of the planet forever. And Paradise is where it all starts." He chuckled and ran his finger under Joe's nose, who recoiled at the musty, old-sweat-socks smell. "The sweet smell of Truth." He licked the last bit of gunk off his fingers and went on. "That monastery holds great and powerful secrets. You know what else it has? Worms. Giant worms—bigger than you can imagine. Worms—and worm sludge. This stuff right here will make you see the world in a whole new way, my friend."

Joe had no idea what the man was talking about, his head was fuzzy, and he was on the verge of passing out again.

Then Black said, "But you've angered me and that means you have to be punished. The jury—" he gestured with a flourish at the townspeople, "—have already declared you guilty as charged—a liar, a hypocrite, a sinner, trespasser—we hate you because you intruded on our Grace and Truth and worm sludge and suhupow." He grinned. "You're punishment is death."

A huge man Black addressed as Claude stepped forward with a length of rope in his enormous hands—a noose on one end. Joe felt his stomach drop all the way down to his toes. They were going to hang him?

As if Black could read his thoughts—and he probably could, Joe reminded himself—the evil man said, "We aren't going to hang you, don't worry."

Claude knelt down beside Joe and fitted the noose snugly around his neck—leaving just a little slack. Then he slung the other end of the rope over a gnarled tree branch on the old beech tree in the middle of the churchyard. That's when Joe realized what was going to happen to him—he was being lynched.

In panic, he yelled out but was cut off as Claude yanked on the rope and Joe's air supply momentarily cut off. Then he gave the boy a little slack. Breathing heavily through his mouth, terror rippling through his entire body, bruised, his neck in a noose, Joe lay on the ground, his entire body quivering, anticipating the moment when he would leave the ground.

Slowly, Claude began to pull on his end of the rope looped over the tree and Joe felt the noose around his neck tighten and pain screamed through his body, up and down his spine, arms, legs, and neck. Then he was airborne as he was slowly pulled from the ground by the neck, resigned to his fate—a slow, painful death dangling above a churchyard of savage villagers, his neck and spine in unbearable agony from being hung by the neck, slowly suffocating to death.

Across the yard, Marsuvees Black was smiling.


	8. Chapter 8

**_A Cavern Deep Beneath the Monastery_ **

**_June 3, 2010_ **

Billy smiled. This story got better and better! Something deep inside of him reared its head, telling him that he was going too far.

 _It's just a story,_ Billy told himself firmly as he allowed himself to continue writing in the evil, wonderful world he had created. Around him, the other children of the monastery, all thirty-seven of them, wrote with fervor.

There was a scream from somewhere in the distance. Billy froze, his pen hovering over the book.

Then he continued writing.

* * *

Frank screeched into the small church parking lot and raced as fast as he could to the churchyard, hoping beyond hope that he wasn't too late—he hadn't heard another peep from his brother since that strangled, choked scream.

As he rounded the church, the sight that he beheld made him skid to a stop and his knees became weak. Joe was tied up a position that had to be excruciatingly painful—his arms and legs pulled awkwardly behind his back and tied together, hanging belly-down from a noose by his neck, eyes squeezed shut in agony, taking short, shallow breaths and sweat coating his forehead.

They're lynching him, Frank realized feeling sick to his stomach.

"Joe..." he gasped and his brother's eyes cracked open. The pain in Joe's gaze made Frank want to kill Marsuvees Black then and there.

He heard a low chuckle and saw Black standing behind the tree that the free end of the noose was looped over, single-handedly gripping the scratchy rope with one hand as if it were nothing, keeping Joe hanging by his neck. A huge burly man stood beside him.

Then Frank noticed the others—it seemed that the entire town of Paradise had come to see the execution. He saw Sally Drake, Paula Smithers, and Steve Smithers snarling at the brothers. In their eyes were a mad gleam of blood lust and perverse excitement. Frank realized that Black had complete control of these people—a supernatural control.

"Let—him—down," Frank gritted, barely holding his anger back.

Marsuvees Black smirked and handed his end of the rope to the huge man standing next to him. "Here, Claude, take this." The man had to hold the rope with two hands, his muscles straining just to keep Joe in the air.

"Let him down?" Black said, shocked. "I don't think so, Frankie-Poo." He examined his perfectly manicured fingernails as if they were the most fascinating things on the earth. In a bored voice he said, "Get him."

The next thing he knew, Frank was being descended on by the inhabitants of Paradise. A few good punches and a black eye later, Frank was tied hand and foot, dumped unceremoniously at the foot of the tree with a promise that he was after Joe.

Joe let out a strangled cough and Frank knew that his brother didn't have much time left. He looked at his baby brother and saw a lone tear streak down his cheek, from fear or pain, Frank didn't know. "Joe, I'm here," he said softly, wanting his brother to know that he wasn't alone. Joe didn't answer. He couldn't.

Frank watched warily as Marsuvees Black circled the tree, an utterly evil gleam in his predatory eyes. "I wonder," he said darkly, studying Joe as if he were some sort of specimen of a demented bug collector, "what would happen to the innards if the stomach is sliced open at this position..."

"NO!" Frank screamed. Another tear streaked down Joe's cheek but he was in too much pain to protest.

Black snapped his fingers and suddenly there was a knife in his hand. He grinned at Frank. "That's what I call power, baby. Wanna trip?"

With that, he descended upon Joe with the knife like a bird of prey.


	9. Chapter 9

**_The Monastery_ **

**_June 3, 2010_ **

A scream echoed through the worried silence. Joe.

Fenton was instantly on his feet and headed toward the door. David Abraham caught his arm in a surprisingly strong grip and pulled the agonized father to a halt. "Mr. Hardy. Please," he said in a desperate voice.

Fenton felt tears well up in his eyes but did nothing to stop the flow. " _That is my son!_ " he said, pain decorating every word. "They are down there doing who knows what to my son, my baby, and you expect me just to sit here passively and allow them to do so?" He shook his head and wrenched his arm from the monk's grasp. "No, David. I'm sorry, but nothing is going to stop me from saving my sons."

"Mr. Hardy, if you go down there, Joe will have no chance of living," David Abraham said softly. "In order to set things back in order, we must allow events to unfold as they will. Only Samuel, an innocent child, has any hope of going to Paradise and returning now. I know this makes no sense to you, Mr. Hardy, but believe me when I tell you that there is so much more than all of this."

"More than what?" Fenton snapped, his stomach twisted into various knots, feeling more like a pretzel than a stomach at the moment. His head was spinning and all he could think about was Joe's tortured scream and Samuel's words... "lynching...lynching...the youngest...lynching..."

David patiently explained. "More than this place. More than the Monastery, more than Project Showdown, more than Paradise or New York or Colorado or America. More than Earth, more than this reality."

"So now we're in the Twilight Zone?" Fenton said sarcastically.

"No," David said simply. "But Marsuvees Black isn't of this world. Neither are the Books of History." He paused. "There is so much undiscovered, so much to learn. Nothing is what it seems, my friend. But I promise you this: what is happening down in Paradise is beyond the both of us: it is a battle for something—even I do not know what—we cannot imagine. But Samuel...Samuel can change things. We cannot."

Fenton felt his knees weaken and he knew in that moment that somehow, some way, David was right. He couldn't interfere. Otherwise, unspeakable evil could possibly be released.

In actuality, unspeakable evil had already been released. Its name was Marsuvees Black.

Fenton's legs gave out completely and he slumped to the ground.

His son—possibly both of his boys—were in the hands of unspeakable evil.

And there was nothing he could do about it except put his trust in a fourteen-year-old boy.

* * *

"No!" Frank screamed and thankfully Black stopped just inches away from Joe's belly. He couldn't even tell if Joe was breathing anymore. Was it Frank's wild imagination, or were Joe's lips turning blue?

No, he couldn't be dead. He just couldn't.

"Don't worry, my friend," Marsuvees Black crooned, snapping his fingers and making the knife disappear. "He's not getting off that easy. This disgusting piece of filth deserves everything he's getting. Trying to stop me..." The man chuckled. "Impossible, but still, he must be punished."

"You just can't do this!" Frank yelled, tears rolling down his face. "It's impossible!"

"Can't what, you stupid puke?" Black snapped. "Can't control an entire village of imbeciles? Can't hang your dimwit of a brother from a tree? Or can't snap my fingers and make a deadly weapon appear? Suhupow, baby." Frank stared at him. "Oh, do you want some Suhupow, Frankie-boy? You wanna trip? Wanna trip on Grace Juice, baby?" He grinned an evil, gleaming white smile. "I have all the power in the world."

"No you don't," said a soft voice.

"And you never will," another voice chimed in.

Frank gasped. "Johnny!" he hissed. "I told you to stay at your house! And why did you bring another kid with you?"

But Johnny wasn't listening. His eyes had locked onto his mother's face, leering up at the motionless Joe, a thirst for blood in her eyes. Johnny looked as if he were about to cry.

The other boy, a blonde boy with green eyes, spoke up. "He didn't bring me. I came of my own accord. We just happened to meet here at the same time." He smiled at Johnny. "My name is Samuel," the boy said. "And don't worry. Everything will be okay. You'll see."

"What do you know, you stupid kid?" Black spat. "Just for your nerve, I think I'll kill you next!"

"Kill me now, but let them go," Samuel said softly. A single tear rolled down his cheek, but he stood brave and tall.

"What—no!" Frank and Johnny said simultaneously. Black mulled it over for a second.

"Why not?" he said in an amused voice. He motioned at Claude, who immediately released the rope and Joe thumped to the ground, landing on his stomach. A soft groan escaped his lips. "It just makes the game even more interesting."

"Both of them," Samuel said.

Marsuvees Black raised an eyebrow. "Raising the stakes, I like it."

He nodded at Steve Smithers who untied Frank. "Take your brother and leave," Black ordered Frank. "If I see you two pukes again I swear I will not hold back."

"I can't let you kill an innocent kid!" Frank hissed.

"Then you've sealed your brother's fate," Black said. "Claude, can you hoist him back into the tree for me?"

"No!" Frank said.

Samuel looked at Frank with fierce determination. "Just go, Frank. Take Joe and go the monastery. Go down the tunnels, follow the worms. Stop Billy if you can."

Somehow, Frank knew that what Samuel said made perfect sense. He knew without a doubt that he had to take Joe to the monastery. Even though he had just met Samuel—how  _had_ the boy known their names?— he knew that he was right.

"Come on, Johnny," Frank said.

"No," Johnny answered. "I'm staying with Samuel."

"Johnny..."

"Let him stay," Samuel ordered.

Frank complied.

Without bothering to untie Joe, he grabbed his unconscious brother and went as fast as he could to the car. He laid his brother in the backseat, cut the ropes that held his hands and feet together, and was about to cut the rope that bound his wrists together and his legs immobile and take the noose from around his neck when he heard a piercing scream. Samuel.

Then he heard the boy wail, " _Go!"_

Tears streaming down his face, Frank abandoned the task of de-pretzeling his brother, jumped into the driver's seat, and squealed off toward the monastery, Samuel's tortured screams following him the whole way.


	10. Chapter 10

**_The Monastery_ **

**_June 3, 2010_ **

Frank slammed on the brakes when he reached the base of the mountain overlooking Paradise. The only thing on his mind was Samuel's words. He had to get into the monastery and stop Billy. But Joe...

Okay, new plan. He had to get into the monastery, get Joe the help he needed, and  _then_ stop Billy. Something pulled at his heart. He knew that he should do exactly what Samuel had ordered, for some reason, but he refused to do so while his brother was in his condition.

As soon as the car stopped, Frank jumped out of the front seat and ran around the car to the back. He flung open the door and hauled the tied up Joe—at least he wasn't hog-tied anymore—noose and all and slung him over his shoulder, his mind burning with Samuel's orders and his heart filling with guilt that he wasn't going to heed them. But he just had to get help for his brother first.

There was a small door at the base of the mountain, almost impossible to see for someone who wasn't really looking for it. Mouthing a silent prayer, Frank pulled on the handle and breathed a sigh of relief that the metal door wasn't locked.

With Joe still flung over his shoulder, Frank skidded through the door and found himself in a dimly lit tunnel. Some sort of slimy gel coated the walls. That stuff Black had been licking off his fingers. Worm sludge, he had called it. Gross. The junk smelled like a mixture of dirty gym socks and mold.

He ran as fast as he could until he reached a fork in the tunnel. One path led deeper under the monastery and the other ascended up a set of very slimy stairs. A speck of light could be seen from somewhere up above. Frank knew that he should be headed down, not up, but his brother...

Joe stirred. Frank quickly lowered his brother onto the ground as Joe opened his blue eyes.

* * *

The first thing Joe was aware of was a violent rocking sensation, back and forth, back and forth. Then he recognized the sound of heavy breathing. He put two and two together and realized that someone was carrying him, and that someone was running and out of breath.

Black!

The horrifying memories came flooding back and Joe shuddered. He remembered the relentless pulling on his muscles, the rough rope around his neck, being raised slowly from the ground. Frank had come and Black was about to slice open Joe's stomach and that was all Joe remembered.

Where was he now? Who had him? Who was running with him?

He made a slight movement and found that he was still bound. The running stopped and Joe felt gentle hands lower him onto a slimy stone floor. He painstakingly cracked open his eyes and felt a wave of relief wash over him as he saw Frank hovering anxiously over him. Then Joe realized that he was almost in complete darkness and the noose was still around his neck.

He let out a panicked yell and began to thrash around, the heavy noose around his neck picking at horrific memories and dragging him back to the churchyard where he had hung from a tree...swinging back and forth, back and forth, by his neck.

He felt warm, comforting hands grasp his grimy, sweaty face and heard Frank's soft, soothing voice.

"It's okay, little brother, I've got you." Joe forced himself to relax but he was aching all over and he couldn't suppress the the small tremors that radiated through his limbs and neck. He felt Frank cut the ropes that bound his wrists behind his back and release his ankles. Frank helped him into a sitting position.

"Get it off!" Joe screamed, terrified beyond reason at the feeling of the scratchy rope encircling his throat. He would not be able to calm down until the noose was actually gone.

Frank seemed to realize this and he quickly helped pull the noose from his brother's neck. In the dim light he could see that the rope was stained with blood. He put his hand at the back of Joe's neck and felt something sticky. Apparently the noose had cut into his brother's skin.

"Frank, is it really you?" Joe managed to squeak out.

Laying a comforting hand on his brother's shoulder, Frank confirmed his presence. "I'm here, little brother. I'll always be here."

* * *

Frank quickly filled Joe in on what had happened. When he got to the part about Samuel's sacrifice, Joe gasped and tried to struggle to his feet but wasn't quite strong enough yet. "We have to do what he said—stop Billy!"

Frank sighed. "Joe, we don't know who Billy is or what we have to stop him from doing. You barely just survived a lynching and you can't stand...the best thing we can do is go up and find Dad in the monastery. He and whoever else is up there can send Samuel the help he needs and you'll be out of danger."

Even in the dark tunnel, Frank could see Joe's determined glare. "Frank, Samuel saved our lives. The least we can do is follow his instructions." Joe attempted to stand again and this time tottered for a whole two seconds before he was back on his aching butt again.

"Joe..."

"Frank, I know you're worried about me, but this is no time for worry. It's time for action, to do what that courageous kid told you to do."

Frank sighed. "Since when do you have such noble scruples?" He pulled Joe up and let his brother lean heavily on him as they descended deeper into the tunnels.

"Since a fourteen-year-old kid showed me the meaning of true love and sacrifice," Joe said fiercely.

* * *

About fifteen minutes after starting their descent, the brothers began to see long, fat, pink, slimy...things...stuck to the gooey wall. Upon further inspection, the brothers realized that they were actually—

"Worms!" Frank exclaimed, jumping back and nearly toppling over, having forgotten that he was supporting Joe.

Joe shook his head, looking sick. "Those babies have to be at least two feet long and a foot thick," he mused. "So Black wasn't kidding about worm sludge."

"I dunno," Frank said softly, eying the gunk coming out of the worms in a fashion that made Joe very nervous. "This stuff doesn't smell too bad once you get used to it." He reached out a trembling finger and ran it through the slime on the wall. The worms didn't react to his movement. He brought it up under his nose and sniffed. "It really doesn't smell that bad, Joe..."

Joe managed to give his brother a good kick in the leg, even in his weakened condition. "Hey!" Frank yelped, snapping out of his trance-like state. "What was that for?"

Joe rolled his blue eyes. "Something tells me this stuff isn't chocolate pudding," he said lamely.

The brothers continued on.

* * *

Not long after, Frank and Joe came to the end of the tunnel: a large wooden door with an exquisite brass handle and knocker. Frank tried the door. Unlocked.

They were in a study of some kind. There was a single desk—a red desk—some books scattered here and there, and not much else. Except...

On the wall, in scrawling, red letters, were the words:

_**Born of Black and White** _

_**Eaten with worms** _

_**I'm a Saint, a Sinner, a Guardian of the Word** _

_**The Circle knows me** _

_**the rest just wanna trip on Grace Juice, Baby** _

_**Showdown at Midnight.** _

After reading the cryptic but completely strange message, the brothers looked at each other.

"What does it mean?" Joe wondered.

"Born of Black and White...Black could be Marsuvees Black, right?" Frank responded.

"Eaten with worms...I guess that's referring to the monsters living in the tunnels," Joe continued.

"But the next part makes no sense," Frank went on. "Except for..."

"...Black kept on talking about Grace Juice," Joe finished.

"Worm sludge," Frank clarified.

"Strange," Joe said.

The brothers made their way across the room, Joe able to hobble pretty well without too much help from Frank now. There was another identical wooden door at this end of the study. The boys opened the door and found themselves in a massive library.

Thirty-seven children, all between the ages of twelve and fourteen, sat at large oak tables, scribbling away in blank books. Joe caught the title of one: "The Stories of History".

Everything clicked. Joe didn't know why or how, but he knew that somehow, someway, these kids were orchestrating everything that was happening in Paradise. This was what Samuel had been meaning when he had told Frank to stop Billy.

"Which one of you is Billy?" Joe asked, his voice a bit shaky.

All of the children looked up from their writing. Except one with blonde hair. He kept scrawling in the book as if there were no tomorrow. The curly-haired girl next to him pointed a shaking finger at the writing boy.

"Billy!" Joe said, but the boy refused to stop writing. Wrenching his arm out of his brother's steadying grasp, Joe hobbled a few steps forward. "Billy, they are killing a boy named Samuel in Paradise! You have to stop writing!"

Frank took a step forward, realizing what his brother had already concluded. "Billy, the stories you are writing are really happening! Marsuvees Black is real, Paradise is real, my brother's lynching was real, and Samuel's dying is real!"

Joe stepped in, tears spilling down his ashen cheeks. "You've got to stop this now, Billy—you're killing Samuel!"

Billy just kept on writing.


	11. Chapter 11

**_Paradise, Colorado_ **

**_June 3, 2010_ **

They were killing Samuel.

Johnny Drake had ducked behind the church, heart racing, as Marsuvees Black turned his evil gaze to him. From his hiding spot, he could hear Samuel's inhuman screams as the crazed residents of Paradise beat him.

Johnny didn't know Samuel; didn't know anything about him. But he did know that he was still a kid, about Johnny's age, actually. He knew that Samuel was being murdered. And he knew that Samuel was no ordinary boy.

Why had he offered himself in the place of Joe? Why was he allowing himself to be brutalized by these people? Why wasn't he fighting back? And why on earth did Black choose to torment a young boy instead of an older teenager? He had had two people in his clutches—why did he give them up for a boy? Johnny didn't know. And at the moment, as another one of Samuel's cries wafted from the churchyard, Johnny realized that he really didn't care.

He only cared about Samuel.

He took a deep breath and rounded the corner of the church. He felt nauseated at the sight before him—Samuel was barely recognizable. The boy had been beaten and stabbed with the bloody stake that Steve Smithers clutched in one hand. He had been strung up on the same tree where Joe had been, his face turning blue.

He was dying. Maybe even dead. Johnny couldn't tell.

" _You've got to stop this!"_ Johnny screeched, rushing forward blindly, tears cascading down his face as he rushed Black, not knowing what to do, having no plan of action, only realizing that he had to do something.

He lunged at Black, and suddenly, Black was not there. He disappeared into thin air. Johnny let out a yell as he dove headfirst into the ground. He heard a soft chuckle behind him.

Black was standing over him, eyes blacker than death, one too many teeth gleaming behind his open-mouthed snarl. "Johnny, we're not dealing with your normal gunslinger," Black smirked. "If you're going to take me down, you'll have to think outside the box, which is something no one in this pitiful, stupid world is able to do. So I guess that means you're in trouble."

Johnny scrambled away, and found himself at his mother's feet. Sally was scowling down at him, her eyes glassy and filled with an emotion that Johnny had never seen pointed in his direction from those blue depths—a hatred so deep and so profound, Johnny had to wonder if he'd rather face Black than his mother.

He turned to see Black advancing, snarling, looking like a vicious beast ready to tear into its freshly caught snack. Nope, he'd definitely rather deal with his mother.

"Mom!" Johnny shrieked, pulling himself to his feet and gripping his mother's arm, the arm that had rubbed his back so many times to get him to sleep, the same arm that had held him when he was a child.

This wasn't that arm. It wasn't his mother's arm.

Sally refused to look at him. "Mom! Look what they're doing! This is all wrong! This is—" he was cut off as Black grabbed the lapel of his jacket and tossed him aside like a piece of trash. The man slapped Johnny across the face—hard—and said, "How would you like to join Samuel?"

Marsuvees Black grinned a too-white, too-big, too-evil grin and turned to the townspeople. "Sic'em."

* * *

"Billy, you have to stop this!" Joe screamed. Losing control of himself, he stumbled forward and snatched the _Stories of History_ out from under Billy's pen. Only then did Billy look up and even Joe had to cower at the glare in his eyes. Not only that, but...Billy's eyes were pure black, the same color as Black's...

_Black's controlling him._

Billy roared and lunged at Joe, catching him in the chin with a punch that was too strong to have come from a scrawny thirteen-year-old like him. Joe reeled back, dazed, and lay still.

Frank rushed Billy, tackling the boy to the ground but was thrown off with incredible force. He and Billy began to fight for the upper hand.

Meanwhile, Joe had forced himself to a sitting position and crawled, unnoticed, to where the book lay open, a pencil beside it. Tears running down his face at the thought of the brave kid down in Paradise that had saved them, he whispered, "This is for you, Samuel."

Completely humbled, Joe wrote at the top of the next page:

_**Then the light destroyed the darkness once and for all. The End.** _

There was no rational explanation for what happened next. A blinding flash of light enveloped the monastery and all of Paradise. Everything was white and perfect. Joe heard laughing from somewhere in the distance.

As suddenly as it had appeared, the light was gone. But everything was different than it had been before the light. Billy was on his knees, sobbing into his hands, mumbling incoherently.

And Frank was hugging Joe. Joe hadn't even seen his brother approach him, but the next thing he knew, his brothers arms were thrown around his shoulders and Frank was hugging him.

There was a commotion by the door and the boys ended the embrace to see their father, accompanied by a monk who was crying so hard they wanted to cry with him. "My boy, my boy," was all he could say.

Fenton rushed forward and caught Joe, who, weakened and overwhelmed by the situation, had almost lost his balance. Joe felt his father's arms envelop him and heard his voice, thick with emotion, whisper, "I thought you were dead, Joe, I thought they had killed you...they were going to lynch you and..."

He took in Joe's bloody neck, wrists, and ankles, his bruised face and limbs and his breath caught in his throat.

"They did, Dad, but Frank got to me in time, he..."

Frank was pulled into the embrace and the three men stood in a swaying circle, arms wrapped around each other's shoulders, tears falling freely with no shame, thankful that they were alive. Grateful for each other.

"I love you, boys," Fenton said gruffly, pulling away with tears in his eyes. He never showed this much emotion, and it almost unnerved him. He cleared his throat. "This is David Abraham," he said, gesturing to the sobbing monk that had accompanied him into the library. "He is Samuel's father."

Joe looked at the man, wide-eyed, and David Abraham forced a smile and said, "You have saved us all, my boy."

Joe shook his hair, agitating his dirty blonde locks. "No, Mr. Abraham—Samuel saved us all."

David began to cry but didn't disagree.

There was a howl of inhuman pain from the floor of the library. Billy was curled into a fetal position, his eyes green, tears flooding to the floor. "I'm sorry, I killed Samuel, I killed him, I never liked him and I killed him..."

David Abraham pulled Billy to his feet where he stood shaking like a Chihuahua, looking like a small child about to get his first spanking. Joe winced, expecting the monk's pain and rage to be unleashed on Billy for ultimately killing his only son because of his evil heart and intentions.

Instead, David pulled Billy to his chest and held the boy, sobbing with him. "I forgive you, my son, my son," the older man wailed, embracing the boy named Billy who had embraced evil like the prodigal son.

Frank, Joe, and Fenton watched in shock for a moment, then decided to bow out and let the monk and the boy deal with their grief alone.

Besides, they needed to get down to Paradise and make sure Black really was shut down for good.


	12. Chapter 12

_**Paradise, Colorado** _

_**June 3, 2010** _

Marsuvees Black wasn't shut down for good. He was still very much alive and eager to make Johnny follow Samuel's example of dying slowly and painfully. He had cut Samuel's body down from the tree, leaving the noose around his neck.

Claude Bowers, Steve Smithers, and another man Johnny didn't know very well had jumped on Johnny and tied him up. A brand new noose was now around his neck, and they were ready to string him up.

Johnny felt tears slide down his cheeks and he knew that no matter how brave his front, he was terrified. But then again, he was following in Samuel's footsteps. He had stood up for what was right and now he was dying for it. He was a martyr, like Samuel.

The thought comforted him.

Just as Claude was about to pull Johnny into the air, something astounding happened. A bright, blinding flash of light enveloped the town and everything was gone. Johnny wasn't tied up anymore; instead, he was standing on a pure white surface surrounded by white everywhere else. Everything was light and the joy bubbled up inside of Johnny and he wanted to scream in pleasure.

He heard someone laughing and he saw a dark figure running from the horizon—he couldn't tell from what direction; it was impossible to get your bearing in this marvelous white place. His eyes lit up when he saw the fourteen-year-old boy running toward him, green eyes glistening with tears of happiness.

"Samuel!" Johnny yelled, embracing the boy he had only known for a few minutes.

Samuel smiled at him. "And then the light destroyed the darkness once and for all. The end."

Johnny began to weep uncontrollably. "What an amazing ending," he sobbed.

Samuel winked at him. "Joe wrote it," he said, then gave Johnny another hug. "Everything will be okay. I promise."

And then, as quickly as it had come, the beautiful white haven was gone. Johnny was tied hand and foot, a noose around his neck, and Samuel's mutilated body was dumped unceremoniously to the side.

Johnny was still crying. But he was crying for joy. He knew everything would be okay. How could it not? Samuel had said it would be.

* * *

Sally Drake felt like she was waking up from a deep sleep brimming with nightmares about a man named Marsuvees Black. She vaguely remembered the happenings of the past two days, but as if they were a distant memory, a foreign dream.

She remembered calling Fenton, then turning him away. She remembered going to the meeting and then watching them try to kill Fenton's sons and watching them kill that young boy and watching them tie up and get ready to lynch...

"Johnny!" she shriek, snapping out of her trance.

* * *

After the light had disappeared, Johnny noticed a change in everyone. The townspeople were beginning to glance around restlessly, eyes wide at the scene before them.

One wild cry rung above the murmuring. "Johnny!"

His mother was sobbing and running. She fell to her knees beside him and untied the ropes around wrists and ankles and slipped the noose from her son's neck. "I'm so sorry, son."

* * *

Steve Smithers glanced around and his eyes landed on Samuel's body. "Dear God, forgive us," he whispered, his eyes on the heavens. Then he spun on Black, wielding the bloody stake. "You."

Black grinned, stuck his hand into his pocket, and brought it out with more worm sludge on it. He licked his fingers one at a time, not looking intimidated in the least by the sudden turn of events.

"Me," he said calmly. "Or rather, you. I was just the mastermind behind all of this. Billy may have created me from the evil spun in his own sick heart, but he didn't realize that once he wrote me into existence that he would lose control of me. I'm Evil. You take one taste and you want more. Then I get control of you and you realize you don't control me anymore. You never have.

"You see, I didn't do this, folks. You stupid, sick, ugly, pathetic pukes killed this kid. I just gave you the nudge you needed."

Claude Bowers glared at Black. "You sick monster from hell!"

Black smirked. Steve ran at him with his stake. A gun fired.

All heads turned toward Fenton Hardy, his gun extended, finger curled around the trigger, the nose of the gun pointed to where Black had been standing just moments earlier. Frank, Joe, and David Abraham were behind him.

The problem was, Black wasn't standing anywhere anymore. Or lying anywhere. Or even sitting anywhere. All that was left of him was his black cowboy hat with tiny swirls of black smoke seeping from under the brim.

"Is he dead?" Johnny ventured.

"No," David Abraham said, his eyes drawn to the bloodied and beaten body of his son. "Just gone for now. You can never stomp out evil." He smiled wearily at Johnny, then Joe, then Frank. "But you can snuff it out for a while."

His eyes landed on his son once again and he fell to his knees next to his child and began to weep.

"My son, my son...that's my boy," he wailed. But there was another emotion mixed in with the grief: pride. His son had given his life to humble Joe. With Joe humbled to the place of a child, the youngest Hardy had written a passage that would rid Paradise of evil. For now.

Samuel had saved them all. He knew what was going to happen to him but he did it anyway.

Joe turned away, tears in his eyes.

_Thank you, Samuel._


	13. Chapter 13

Joe had woken up early, and, unable to get back to sleep, he had pulled on his jeans and a jacket, padded quietly down the hall from the Drake's guest bedroom, and let himself out the front door. He sat on the porch, thinking.

Everything that had happened in the past three days was unbelievable. But he knew they were true. It made him wonder. If there were books that could shape the entire course of history, then what's to say there weren't other impossible things out there?

Like Black had said, other realms, universes, maybe even another world. The books had to have come from somewhere, right?

He was mulling this over when he heard a soft sound from the driveway; a foot scuffing pavement.

He glanced up warily, not knowing who would be out and visiting at five-thirty in the morning, then froze.

Samuel Abraham stood on the pavement, his blonde hair blowing in the slight breeze and his green eyes smiling at Joe. And he was perfectly whole, unharmed, and healthy.

Joe stood up uncertainly. Was he seeing a ghost? It was quite possible; nothing seemed too ridiculous after everything he'd witnessed in the past few days. But he knew, somehow, deep down, that this was Samuel—alive and well, not an apparition.

"How—?"

"My father was broken," Samuel's sweet voice rang out. "With my death, he was driven to the point where his grief was so humbling he was a child again. And he wrote in the books. Thanks to my father, I'm alive. And I'm going to return to him at the monastery soon, although we won't be there for much longer—Project Showdown obviously went horribly wrong."

Joe heard a quiet gasp from behind him and saw his brother, father, Johnny, and Sally standing in the doorway, staring at Samuel in amazement.

"Marsuvees Black is still out there," Samuel continued as if no one had interrupted him with a gasp of disbelief. "But that's okay. Because, as you learned, Joe and Frank, the light cannot be overrun by the darkness for long." Samuel strode forward and embraced Joe. Joe returned the hug, his head still reeling. "Thank you for your contribution to the stories of history, Joe," Samuel murmured, then stepped back, his eyes shining. "And don't be afraid to believe in the impossible. Sometimes what you can't see and touch is more real than something you can."

And then he turned on his heel and ran, graceful and smooth, toward the monastery. Joe watched him go and felt everyone else's eyes on their back. He turned and gave his brother a hug and shook his father's hand. He ruffled Johnny's blonde hair and gave Sally a kiss on the cheek.

They had learned a lot in three days. Good—Samuel. Evil—Marsuvees Black. The souls struggling in between—Paradise.

In a few hours time, the Hardys would be on their way home to Bayport, where their adventures in Paradise would become further and more distant and difficult for even them to believe. They would eventually forget the details until something came along that required them remember. One thing was for sure, though: they would never, ever forget Samuel.


End file.
